


all of my dreams begin and end with you

by lady_mab



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hair Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: A chair has been pulled up to just in front of the sink, and Martin turns when he hears Jon's grunt at the sight."Welcome to Salon de Martin," he intones with an incredibly good French accent, even if Jon isn't certain the grammar is correct. "Please, have a seat."Jon can feel his lips twitch into an amused smirk as he sets the bottles down on the counter. "What a fine establishment you have.""I am leaning into the 'home comforts', here."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadinacookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadinacookie/gifts).



> how many times do i have to tell you  
> early in the morning you're beautiful too  
> how can i tell you the way you make me feel  
> all of my thoughts begin and end with you  
> \- ben camden's "[clouds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPbLWaoGkTQ)"

At one point, the shower breaks.

To be perfectly honest, it's a wonder it even worked in the first place, but now it's broken, and neither of them are really certain how to fix it.

(That's not quite true. Jon knows. He can Know? He hasn't tried. Does it work that way -- peering into a vast network of inanimate objects and finding the way they piece together? Or would he have to look into the head of a plumber and find the knowledge there?)

But it's late when it happens, and all Jon really wants is to wash his hair, and go to sleep, and the shower is broken.

Martin looks up when Jon shuffles out of the bathroom, dejected, towel draped over his arm. "What was that noise?"

"The shower. Some... internal piping issue. I'm not too sure." Jon tosses the towel at the bed for a lack of anything better to do with his frustration. It's a stupid thing to get upset over, and yet. _And yet_.

Martin holds out a hand, and Jon gravitates towards it on instinct. He closes his eyes as Martin's fingers smooth over his cheek, thumb wiping at the corner of his eye. "Do you want me to help?"

Jon gives a laugh, though it's more like a weak huff of breath. "There's no water coming out of the shower head. At all."

"We've got a kitchen sink, silly. And one of those pull-out faucet things." Martin's expression softens into a smile as he studies the look on Jon's face. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, you were making a face." He scrunches up his nose and quirks an eyebrow and purses his lips in a way that looks more like he ate a sour lemon. "Like this."

"That's not my upset face."

This time, he feigns innocence mixed with shock. "Oh? No? What does that look like then?"

Jon doesn't know how to respond, because he can't be mad at the shower at the same time as trying not to give in to the fond laughter.

Martin uses this pause to swoop in for a kiss -- soft and lingering, and enough to leech the last of Jon's distress. "C'mon, grab your towel and your shampoo. And then meet me in the kitchen."

He does as asked, scooping up his towel from where it slipped to the floor, and his products from the bathroom. He can hear Martin's humming from downstairs, and follows the sound to find the other man putting away the dried dishes from dinner.

A chair has been pulled up to just in front of the sink, and Martin turns when he hears Jon's grunt at the sight.

"Welcome to Salon de Martin," he intones with an incredibly good French accent, even if Jon isn't certain the grammar is correct. "Please, have a seat."

Jon can feel his lips twitch into an amused smirk as he sets the bottles down on the counter. "What a fine establishment you have here."

"I am leaning into the 'home comforts', here." Martin takes the towel from his hands and ushers Jon into the chair. Then he drapes the towel around Jon's shoulders and, carefully, guides his head back towards the sink.

It's a slightly awkward angle, but if he slumps in the chair, it's not too bad. Behind him, the water hits the metal basin of the sink. Jon lets his eyes slip shut, the drum of water turning into white noise as Martin's fingers work through his hair.

"Let me know if the temperature needs to be adjusted," Martin says, pulling free the sprayer and angling it low at Jon's skull.

He gives a low, non-committal grunt -- feeling the tension ease out of his limbs.

Martin puts the sprayer back, and there's a pause as he fumbles with the shampoo. But then he runs his fingers back through Jon's hair, stubby nails scratching over his scalp, and Jon lets out a sigh that's dangerously close to a contented little moan.

So Martin does the motion again, smooths his thumb over the furrows in Jon's brow, tucks the loose strand of hair behind an ear as he works in the shampoo.

"Did you used to be a hairdresser in one of your previous careers?" Jon teases, cracking one eye open long enough just to watch Martin's face as he focuses.

" _Jon_ ," he says, exasperated, but it doesn't stop the fondness from leaving his face. "I didn't even finish school."

"You can trick Elias into hiring you at the Institute, surely you could forge a certificate from a beauty school."

"You're making me sound like a real petty white collar criminal."

Jon laughs, and Martin leans down to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

They slip back into comfortable silence, though it is occasionally broken by Martin's faint humming and Jon's breathy sighs.

The sink is shut off, and Martin uses the corner of the towel to wipe the lingering droplets from Jon's brow. His hand is warm from the water where it presses against the back of Jon's neck to urge him up from the sink. "Go dry your hair, and I'll be up in a moment."

He sits up, catching his hair up in the towel so it doesn't drip down his back. "I'll help you clean--"

Martin closes his hands around Jon's, pressing in for a quick kiss. "Just go dry your hair."

Jon accepts the kiss, then another. "Stubborn."

"I'm not going to tell you a third time, Pot."

"I'm going, Kettle." He lingers long enough for a final kiss before Martin finally ushers him out of the kitchen. He pads up the stairs, ruffling his hair with the towel.

By the time he finishes with the hair dryer, Martin is already seated back in the bed -- bottle of shampoo and conditioner sitting on the dresser. Martin pats the mattress beside him, and Jon shuts off the bathroom light before crossing the room, comb in hand and a tie around his wrist.

Jon crawls onto the bed, suddenly remembering just how tired he was when he set out to take a shower initially.

"Sit here," Martin says, this time patting the space between his legs.

Jon does so, turning his back to Martin and offering over the comb.

Using the same gentle consideration he shows everything with Jon -- marveling, as if for the first time, at being able to have this level of intimacy -- Martin combs out his hair. He works through the tangles and separates it into three pieces.

Martin’s warmth is pleasant against Jon’s back, and it’s all he can do to not just fall asleep right there. When Martin’s fingers prod at his wrist, looking for the hair tie, he lifts his arm in answer. 

“Almost done,” Martin murmurs, leaving a kiss to the skin of Jon’s wrist after removing the band. He ties off the braid, and his lips brush gentle, lazy kisses to the top knobs of Jon’s spine. “Get changed for bed.” 

“I am.” He’s wearing slouchy enough clothes, all things considered, even if they aren’t pajamas. 

“You’re _not_.” Martin nudges him upright, though it isn't very productive. “You’ll thank me in the morning.” 

“I’m going to thank you right now.” Jon wriggles into his spot on the bed and gives Martin’s knee a reassuring pat. “Good, thank you.” 

“Insufferable…” Martin huffs, though the amusement is audible. “Alright, I’m going to get changed and brush my teeth. You know, like a _responsible_ adult.” 

“‘M sleepy.” 

“You’ll have the worst morning breath and I won’t kiss you. And you’ll be grouchy from sleeping in your clothes, and you’ll be grouchy because I won’t kiss you because you didn’t brush your teeth. Remember that.” 

It doesn’t take mind-reading abilities to know that Martin isn’t even remotely joking, though Jon tries to put it off for as long as possible before rolling back out of the bed to finish getting ready.

Eventually, the lights are turned off and they settle into bed beneath the covers. In the darkness, Jon can make out Martin’s fuzzy outline in front of him. He reaches out, fingers mussing with the curls that hang over Martin’s eyes, and traces the shape of Martin’s brow. “Thank you,” he murmurs into the soft silence. 

Martin’s hand lands on his forearm before sliding up to tangle their fingers together. He presses a kiss to Jon’s palm. “Any time.”

Jon let’s the tips of his fingers brush over Martin’s lips before leaning in to leave a proper kiss in their place. 


	2. Chapter 2

Martin stands in the bathroom over the sink, the pair of scissors in his hand. The blades gnash like angry teeth each time he lifts them up to his fringe -- only to have to drop them back down to the counter. "Okay... this isn't that hard..." It _shouldn't_ be that hard. It's just the two of them, so it's not like he has to _worry_ about it looking bad.

But despite everything, there's still the derisive laughter in the back of his head, of his mother's scolding voice, his own tear-streaked cheeks as she attempted to fix the mess he had made.

He pushes those thoughts away, lifts the scissors to the first lanky curl and--

No. Nope. He can't do it.

The scissors tumble from his fingers before bouncing off the edge of the counter and clattering to the bathroom floor. Martin lets out a heavy, distressed sigh, shoving his hair back out of his eyes (only for it to flop right back into place) and taking a careful step back.

"Martin?" Jon pokes his head into the bathroom, a book tucked under one arm. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Martin says quickly, stooping to pick up the scissors. "Just... brushing my teeth."

There's a pause, and when he risks a glance up, he can see the look of disbelief on Jon's reflection in the mirror. There's no need for all-seeing and all-knowing abilities in the face of a lie that bald.

"At two in the afternoon?"

"I..." He swipes again at his hair, and understanding passes over Jon's face.

Jon tosses his book onto the bed and joins Martin in the bathroom proper. "Your hair is bothering you," he says in a way that brooks no argument. "Would you like my help?"

Martin regards the scissors balefully, but the self-frustration wins out and his shoulders slump. "Would you?"

There's a fondness to Jon's expression that comforts Martin. Jon ruffles the curls before leaning up on tip-toes to press a kiss to Martin's forehead. "Of course." His second kiss is to the bridge of Martin's nose, then to his lips. "Let's do it in the kitchen so I have more space to maneuver."

Their en suite has very minimal space, barely enough to accommodate the two of them hip to hip if they brush their teeth at the same time. So Martin trails absently after Jon, scissors clutched in his hand.

Jon pauses long enough to pluck a towel off the rack and leads the way downstairs and into the kitchen. He pulls a chair from the dining table and sets it in the middle of the room.

Martin drops onto it after a moment's hesitation, and Jon tucks the towel around his shoulders like a security blanket. "Have you ever cut someone's hair before?" he asks, uncertain if it's nervous or anxious, or what even the difference really is at that moment.

"My own."

"What?" Martin gives a brief glance, but his hair is combed into his face and cuts off his line of vision. "Really?"

"Oh, yes, all the time," Jon hums. There's another beat, and Martin can hear the faucet running. "Sometimes, I got very bored and restless as a child."

Martin snorts, wrinkling his nose as Jon's hand gathers up the loose hair. "I am no longer surprised."

"Yes, well. I'm sure it explains a lot about me." Jon uses the spray bottle they keep for the plants to get Martin's bangs wet, careful to keep the dripping to a minimum as best he can. "Do you want to trim the whole thing, or just the bangs?"

"Um, do you mind if you do the whole thing? Or--, well, whatever you can." It would help things feel a little more under control, perhaps. 

Jon hums again in response. He rests his hip against Martin's thigh as he sections out the hair with the comb and, with careful consideration, begins to trim.

Martin watches the curling pieces of hair land in his lap, and he brushes them away idly with the tips of his fingers where he can.

It's a calming quiet, accompanied by the gentle _snip_ of the scissors or the _spritz_ of the spray bottle or the tap of Jon's bare feet on the tile. Occasionally, Jon would place two fingers gently beneath Martin's chin and guide him to look one way or the other, and Martin would get a glimpse of Jon's studious expression as he considers the way the hair looks.

Martin loves him a little more each time -- loves the little furrow in Jon's brow, the purse of his lips, the intense concentration.

He loses track of time in that pocket of silence, content to watch and listen, to feel the way Jon’s touches are increasingly deliberate and increasingly lingering. 

Soon, Jon stands in the space between Martin’s knees, fingers brushing the stray strands from Martin’s forehead. “There,” he says with some degree of satisfaction. “Perfect.” 

“Thank you…” Martin lifts a hand to fuss with the curls, pleased to find that they no longer droop into his eyes or too far over his ears. Then he reaches out and catches onto Jon’s belt loop before he can move too far away. 

Jon lets himself get reeled back in, tucking the scissors into his back pocket as his arms curl around Martin’s shoulders. “I need to sweep.”

“I’ll clean up,” Martin offers, though he makes no attempt to move away, hands settling comfortably on Jon’s hips. 

“You should go change or all those little bits of hair will bother you _all_ day.” Jon’s fingers work back through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, scratching the base of his skull with lazy, teasing motions. 

“I’m not going to want to move if you keep that up.” 

“Compromise: We clean up, then you sit with me while I read.” 

Martin pretends to consider this, but really it’s a no-brainer. “Deal.” 

Jon uses his grip on Martin’s hair to pull his head back and gives him a lingering kiss. “Deal.” 

Martin’s lips shift into an altogether pleased smile, still more than content to remain where he is. 

And while Jon doesn’t seem too keen on moving either, eventually they separate to go about their tasks. 

Upstairs, Martin changes — but decides against a proper shower or starting a load of laundry. That will be something to do later. He does his best to brush and shake out his hair, but he knows he will find small pieces everywhere for the next few days. 

He flops into the bed as Jon returns, and wriggles against the other man as soon as he gets comfortable. Jon’s thigh isn’t the most comfortable pillow in the world, but as soon as Jon’s fingers return to combing through his hair, Martin really can’t think of another place where he would rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> Jade knows the way to my heart. Their exact prompt was "little comforts - hairwashing/hair care. Martin washing then braiding Jon's hair for him. Jon trimming Martin's hair where its getting into his eyes. That sort of thing". So I did both, for fun. 
> 
> find me on tumblr @littleladymab and help me during april's camp nano/coping with S5 release by dropping a fic idea for me [in my ask box](https://littleladymab.tumblr.com/ask)


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